Mountains Within: The Quiet Battles That Shape Me

Mountains Within: The Quiet Battles That Shape Me

When people ask about my biggest challenges, they often expect a list shaped by circumstances — age, health, finances, or the changing pace of the world. Those challenges do exist, standing tall like familiar milestones along the road of life. Yet, if I listen carefully, the truest challenges speak in a quieter voice. They are not always visible, but they are deeply felt. They are the mountains within.
One of my greatest challenges has been remaining relevant in a world obsessed with novelty. Experience, once revered, now competes with speed, youth, and instant visibility. After decades in education — years spent shaping minds, building institutions, mentoring teachers and students — retirement did not end my desire to contribute. What it changed was the platform. To continue offering wisdom while being subtly told that age is a liability rather than an asset requires resilience, humility, and an unshaken belief in one’s worth.
Another enduring challenge is learning to live with unanswered expectations. Life does not always reward sincerity immediately, nor does it always reciprocate effort in equal measure. There have been moments when dedication went unnoticed, when trust was misplaced, and when silence followed genuine outreach. Accepting this without bitterness — without allowing disappointment to harden into cynicism — has been a slow and conscious discipline.
Loneliness, too, presents itself as a silent test. It is not merely the absence of people, but the absence of being needed as one once was. Social circles shrink, conversations become brief, and digital acknowledgements replace human presence. Yet, this challenge has also been a teacher. It has nudged me towards introspection, towards music, prayer, writing, and a deeper companionship with my own thoughts. In solitude, I have discovered that loneliness can either imprison or illuminate — the choice lies within.
There is also the challenge of balancing dignity with dependence. Advancing years bring wisdom, but they also demand adjustments — emotional, physical, and financial. Accepting support without feeling diminished, contributing without overstepping, and remaining grateful without feeling burdensome is a delicate equilibrium. It requires grace — towards oneself and towards others.
Perhaps the most persistent challenge is remaining hopeful without being naïve. The world is fractured by conflict, intolerance, and moral fatigue. Institutions falter, values blur, and compassion often struggles for space. Yet, surrendering hope would be the greatest defeat. To continue believing in goodness, in learning, in kindness — despite evidence to the contrary — is not ignorance; it is courage.
Challenges, I have realised, are not roadblocks meant to stop us. They are mirrors meant to refine us. Each one asks a quiet question: Who are you becoming because of this?
And so, I walk on — not without weariness, but with willingness; not without scars, but with stories.

Some battles shout, some battles sigh,
Some test the strength we keep inside.
The greatest wars are rarely seen,
They shape the soul — the space between.

If I still rise, if I still care,
If hope survives my whispered prayer,
Then every challenge, faced and known,
Has gently led me closer home.

When Yesterday Knocks Softly at the Door

When Yesterday Knocks Softly at the Door

Nostalgia is a gentle but persistent visitor. It does not announce its arrival with fanfare; instead, it slips in quietly—through a familiar tune, the smell of wet earth after the first monsoon shower, or the sight of an old photograph whose edges have curled with time. What makes me nostalgic is not merely the past itself, but the emotions the past still carries, like echoes that refuse to fade.
Music is perhaps my most faithful time machine. A Mukesh song from the 1960s, a hymn once sung in a school assembly, or a raga flowing tenderly from a flute can transport me instantly to another era. In those moments, I am no longer bound by the present. I am a young boy again—listening, learning, hoping. Music does not age; it only deepens, much like memory itself. Each note seems to carry the warmth of voices long gone and the comfort of silences once shared.
Places, too, awaken nostalgia with startling ease. A quiet school corridor, a playground at dusk, or a hill road winding into the unknown brings back the discipline, laughter, and innocence of my formative years. Having lived across cultures and geographies—Odisha, Nepal, boarding schools with English traditions—my nostalgia is layered. Each place has left its imprint, shaping my worldview and reminding me that identity is often a mosaic of many homes.
Relationships form the heart of nostalgic longing. Teachers who believed before I did, students whose curious eyes once looked up with trust, colleagues who shared both burdens and breakthroughs—all return uninvited yet warmly welcomed. Now, as a grandfather watching my grandchildren grow, I often find myself comparing generations, smiling at how time moves forward even as memory pulls us back. Nostalgia, then, becomes a bridge between who I was and who I am.
Even objects have a quiet way of stirring the soul. Old books with underlined passages, a harmonium resting patiently in the corner, handwritten notes from another lifetime—these are not mere things. They are witnesses. They remind me of effort, aspiration, and a slower rhythm of life where patience was a virtue, not an inconvenience.
Philosophically, nostalgia is a reminder of impermanence. Indian thought speaks of smriti—memory—as both a blessing and a burden. It teaches us gratitude for what has been, without imprisoning us in what can no longer be. In this sense, nostalgia is not an escape but a gentle teacher. It urges us to live the present more fully, knowing that today, too, will one day be remembered with longing.
Ultimately, what makes me nostalgic is the realisation that life, in all its fragility and beauty, has been kind in ways I only understand in retrospect. Nostalgia does not make me sad; it makes me reflective. It whispers that I have lived, loved, learned—and that in itself is a quiet triumph.
And so I end with these stanzas:

Yesterday walks beside me, not to bind my feet,
But to remind my heart of roads once sweet.
In every memory, a lesson lies,
In every tear, a truth disguised.

If time must pass, let it pass with grace,
Leaving gentle footprints, not a vacant space.
For when nostalgia softly calls my name,
I smile—life, it seems, was worth the flame.

More Than a Jersey: How Colours and Mascots Shape the Soul of a Sports Team

More Than a Jersey: How Colours and Mascots Shape the Soul of a Sports Team

In the theatre of sport, where passion often runs higher than reason and loyalty lasts longer than logic, two silent yet powerful actors command enduring influence — colours and mascots. Long before a ball is kicked, a bat is swung, or a whistle is blown, these symbols begin to speak. They whisper identity, shout intent, and quietly stitch individuals into a collective spirit. A sports team may be built with players and strategies, but it is sustained by symbols that endure far beyond any season.

The Power of Colours: Emotion in Visible Form

Colours are not mere aesthetic choices; they are psychological triggers. Science, culture, and history converge in the way colours influence human behaviour. Red ignites aggression and urgency, blue calms and commands trust, green signifies growth and balance, black denotes authority and resilience, while gold symbolises excellence and achievement.
In sport, colours become emotional uniforms. They create instant recognition, forge belonging, and often intimidate opponents. A fan does not merely wear a colour; he or she inhabits it. Stadiums turn into seas of shared emotion, where colour becomes language and loyalty becomes visible.
Historically too, colours have held symbolic meaning — from the banners of Roman legions to the flags of freedom movements. In Indian philosophy, colours correspond to the gunas:
– Sattva (white) for balance and wisdom,
– Rajas (red) for action and ambition,
– Tamas (black) for stability and endurance.
A wise team draws not from excess, but from harmony.

Mascots: The Living Metaphor

If colours form the skin of a team, the mascot becomes its soul in motion. Mascots personify values — courage, speed, intelligence, resilience, unity. From lions and eagles to mythical creatures, mascots translate abstract ideals into relatable symbols.
Anthropologically, humans have always relied on totems — animals or symbols representing tribal identity and protection. In the Mahabharata, banners bore emblems that reflected a warrior’s temperament. Arjuna’s flag bore Hanuman, symbolising strength guided by wisdom. The message was clear: power must walk hand in hand with purpose.
A good mascot does not frighten alone; it inspires. It becomes a rallying point for children, a badge of pride for supporters, and a psychological anchor for players under pressure.

If I Were to Have a Sports Team…

If I were to found a sports team, my choices would not be impulsive or ornamental; they would be philosophical and purposeful.
– Team Colours: Deep Blue and Burnished Gold
Deep Blue would represent depth, discipline, trust, and calm under pressure — qualities essential for sustained excellence. Blue is the colour of the infinite sky and the unfathomable ocean; it reminds players to remain composed, reflective, and steady even when storms rage.
– Burnished Gold would signify aspiration, dignity, and earned success — not flashy victory, but excellence achieved through perseverance. Gold does not shout; it glows.
Together, blue and gold speak of wisdom allied with ambition, a balance of head and heart.
– Mascot: The Elephant
I would choose the Elephant as the mascot — a symbol deeply rooted in Indian ethos and universally respected.
The elephant stands for:
1. Strength without arrogance
2. Memory and learning
3. Teamwork and loyalty
4. Quiet authority rather than noisy aggression

In Indian mythology, Lord Ganesha embodies intellect, foresight, and the removal of obstacles — precisely what a team needs in moments of crisis. The elephant moves steadily, protects its own, and never charges without reason. It teaches that true power lies not in speed alone, but in purposeful movement.
In a sporting world obsessed with instant results, the elephant reminds us that endurance outlasts excitement.

Beyond Branding: Building a Legacy

Colours and mascots are not marketing accessories; they are moral compasses. They remind players who they are meant to be, even when no one is watching. They create continuity when teams change, and identity when circumstances falter.
A team that understands its symbol plays not just to win, but to represent. As the saying goes, “You can change the players, but not the colours they sweat for.”

In the end, a sports team is a microcosm of life itself — conflict, cooperation, failure, hope, and renewal. Colours give it emotion; mascots give it meaning. Chosen wisely, they transform a group of athletes into a living idea.
And when the final whistle blows, trophies may tarnish, but symbols endure — quietly reminding generations that once, a team stood for something more than just victory.
Because in sport, as in life, what you stand for matters as much as how you play.

From Slogans to Substance: How My Political Views Matured with Time

From Slogans to Substance: How My Political Views Matured with Time

Politics, like life, rarely remains static. What begins as borrowed conviction in youth often ripens—sometimes painfully—into tempered understanding with age. My own political views have not so much swung from one extreme to another as they have settled, shedding noise and acquiring nuance. The journey from idealism to realism, from slogans to substance, has been slow, reflective, and deeply human.

The Early Years: Inherited Beliefs and Loud Certainties

In my younger days, political opinions were largely inherited—absorbed from family discussions, social circles, classrooms, and the dominant narratives of the time. Like many young people, I believed that clarity lay in certainty. Issues were black or white; leaders were heroes or villains. There was a romantic attraction to grand promises, stirring speeches, and ideological purity. Politics felt like a moral contest, and choosing sides felt like choosing righteousness.
Emotion, not evidence, often guided those views. The fire of youth seeks quick answers, not complicated truths.

Middle Years: Encounters with Reality

As professional life unfolded—particularly in education and administration—the simplicity of earlier beliefs began to crack. Policies were no longer abstract ideas but living forces that shaped institutions, budgets, teachers’ morale, students’ futures, and families’ lives. I began to see how good intentions could produce poor outcomes, and how unpopular decisions were sometimes necessary.
Exposure to diversity—of regions, cultures, economic realities, and human behaviour—played a crucial role. Ideology alone could not explain why the same policy succeeded in one context and failed in another. Gradually, I became less interested in who said something and more in what was said, why it was said, and how it would be implemented.
This phase replaced political enthusiasm with political responsibility.

Later Years: From Ideology to Ethics

With age came a quieter, more inward approach to politics. I became sceptical of theatrics and wary of constant outrage. Instead of asking, “Which side is right?”, I found myself asking, “Who benefits, who pays the price, and who is left unheard?”
Philosophy and mythology offered powerful mirrors. In the Mahabharata, even righteous war brings irreversible loss. In Plato’s writings, democracy without wisdom risks becoming mob rule. The Bible repeatedly warns against leaders who serve themselves rather than their flock. These teachings reinforced a central belief: politics divorced from ethics is merely organised self-interest.
Today, my views are less about party loyalty and more about governance, accountability, compassion, and long-term thinking.

What Has Changed—and What Has Not

What has changed is my impatience with absolutism and my distrust of easy answers. I now accept that disagreement is not betrayal and compromise is not weakness. I value institutions over individuals, processes over personalities, and evidence over emotion.
What has not changed is the belief that politics matters deeply because it touches the most vulnerable first. Education, health, dignity of labour, and social harmony remain non-negotiable concerns. If anything, age has intensified my conviction that power must always be questioned, no matter who holds it.

Political maturity, I have learned, is not about becoming cynical but about becoming careful. It is the shift from shouting opinions to weighing consequences, from defending positions to examining principles.
Once I believed politics could change the world overnight. Now I believe it changes lives slowly—sometimes clumsily, sometimes unjustly—but always significantly. And that is precisely why it deserves thought, humility, and conscience.
In the end, my politics did not change direction; they changed depth.

Borrowed Comforts, Broken Legacies: A Moral Debt No Parent Can Repay

Borrowed Comforts, Broken Legacies: A Moral Debt No Parent Can Repay

Across mythologies, philosophies and civilisations, parenthood has never been treated as a casual role. It is a sacred trusteeship—where one generation holds life, values and resources in trust for the next. When parents choose self-indulgence over the grooming and upbringing of their children, they do not merely make poor choices; they violate an ancient moral law that every culture, scripture and philosophy has warned against.
In our times, this violation often hides behind modern comforts. Income is spent on personal pleasures, loans are taken casually from friends, relatives and banks, and repayment is perpetually postponed. Borrowing becomes a lifestyle rather than a necessity. Accountability is evaded, and the burden quietly shifts to children and family members. What appears outwardly as personal freedom is, in truth, a slow emotional and ethical scam.

Mythological Mirrors: Lessons Ignored

Indian mythology offers stark reminders of parental duty. In the Mahabharata, King Dhritarashtra’s blind attachment and indulgence towards his sons led not only to their moral decay but to the destruction of an entire lineage. His failure was not lack of wealth, but lack of moral restraint and guidance. Similarly, in the Ramayana, King Dasharatha’s inability to uphold balance between desire and duty resulted in lifelong regret and personal tragedy. These stories remind us that indulgence without wisdom breeds ruin.
Even Greek mythology echoes the same warning. Cronus, consumed by fear and self-preservation, devoured his own children—an extreme symbol of parents sacrificing the future to secure their present. Though metaphorical, the message is chillingly relevant: when parents consume resources meant for their children, they devour their own legacy.
Biblical philosophy reinforces this moral boundary: “A good man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children.” Inheritance here is not merely material—it is faith, discipline, character and foresight. To leave behind unpaid debts, emotional wounds and shattered trust is to leave a curse disguised as inheritance.

Philosophical Perspective: Duty Over Desire

From a philosophical lens, Confucius placed filial responsibility at the heart of social order, insisting that harmony in society begins within the family. Indian philosophy speaks of Grihastha Dharma, where householders are duty-bound to sustain not only themselves but dependents, elders and the next generation. Personal pleasure was never forbidden—but it was always secondary to responsibility.
Modern existentialism, too, holds individuals accountable for the consequences of their choices. Parents who repeatedly borrow, default and indulge cannot escape moral responsibility by blaming circumstances. Freedom without responsibility, as Sartre warned, leads to bad faith—a self-deception that corrodes character.

The Silent Scam on Children and Society

The greatest victims of such behaviour are not lenders or banks, but children. They grow up amid instability, witnessing broken promises and moral contradictions. Education becomes negotiable, emotional security fragile, and self-worth compromised. Many internalise guilt, believing they are burdens rather than blessings. Others unconsciously inherit the same habits, mistaking irresponsibility for normal adulthood.
Friends and relatives, initially compassionate, become reluctant financiers. Trust erodes, relationships fracture, and social isolation follows. The parents themselves age into loneliness—surrounded by comforts once enjoyed, but stripped of dignity and respect.

Root Causes Behind the Decline

Several forces drive this erosion of parental responsibility:
1. Consumerist Culture – The illusion that happiness lies in consumption rather than contribution.
2. Financial Illiteracy – Poor planning, impulsive borrowing and ignorance of long-term consequences.
3. Emotional Immaturity – Adults who never outgrow self-centred living.
4. Social Pretence – Maintaining false status at the cost of family welfare.
5. Enabling Networks – Repeated bailouts that reward irresponsibility.

Remedies: Returning to Moral Ground

Correction is possible, but it requires humility and courage:
– Reawakening Dharma – Recognising parenting as moral stewardship, not entitlement.
– Practising Financial Discipline – Spending within means and honouring debts.
– Investing Emotionally in Children – Time, guidance and presence over indulgence.
– Restoring Accountability – Relatives must stop enabling habitual exploitation.
– Seeking Guidance – Counselling, financial education and ethical reflection.

A Powerful Closing Reflection

A parent may borrow money, but they also borrow the future—from their children. When that future is spent on fleeting comforts, the debt cannot be repaid with interest or apologies. Civilisations collapse not when wealth is lost, but when values are squandered. True parenting is not about living well today, but ensuring that tomorrow stands on firm moral ground.

They feasted on comforts, borrowed and thin,
While children paid for the parents’ sin.
Debts grew tall, but values were small,
And duty lay crushed beneath desire’s call.

Myth and scripture, old yet wise,
Warned of futures sacrificed.
For when parents choose the self alone,
They mortgage seeds that should have grown.

Raise not heirs to unpaid dues,
Nor gift them fractured, borrowed truths.
For legacy is not what you spend or save,
But the honest life you dare to pave.

Four Wheels, One Soul: Why the Land Rover Defender Will Always Be My First Love

Four Wheels, One Soul: Why the Land Rover Defender Will Always Be My First Love

Ask a person about their all-time favourite automobile and you will rarely receive a technical answer. You will hear a story instead. Cars, after all, are not merely engineered objects; they are companions of memory, witnesses to journeys taken and dreams pursued. My own choice, shaped by admiration rather than ownership, is the Land Rover Defender—a machine that feels less like a car and more like a philosophy on wheels.
The Defender does not flirt with glamour, nor does it seek approval through polished curves or indulgent luxury. It stands upright, unapologetic, almost stern—like a seasoned explorer who has seen enough of the world to care little for appearances. Its boxy silhouette tells you instantly that this vehicle was designed with purpose, not pretence. In an age obsessed with aerodynamics and touchscreens, the Defender speaks an older, sterner language: function before fashion.
What draws me most to the Defender is its honesty. Every bolt seems visible, every panel purposeful. There is no attempt to hide its rugged intent. It was built to endure—to cross deserts, climb mountains, wade through rivers, and return home bearing the dust and scars of adventure like medals of honour. This resilience resonates deeply with me. Life, much like a long journey, demands stamina more than speed, character more than comfort.
There is also something profoundly democratic about the Defender. It has served farmers, soldiers, explorers, aid workers, and travellers alike. From the African savannahs to Himalayan passes, it has carried both cargo and conviction. Few automobiles can claim such a global legacy of service. While many cars boast horsepower and acceleration figures, the Defender boasts stories—of survival, reliability, and trust.
In a philosophical sense, the Defender reminds us that progress does not always mean replacement. Sometimes it means refinement without betrayal of core values. Even its modern reincarnations, though technologically advanced, attempt to honour that original spirit of robustness and reliability. The Defender teaches us a quiet lesson: evolution need not erase identity.
As someone who values journeys as much as destinations, the idea of a vehicle that prioritises endurance over elegance feels deeply personal. The Defender may not offer the softest ride, but it promises something far rarer—dependability. And in both machines and human relationships, that is a virtue worth celebrating.
In the end, my fondness for the Land Rover Defender is not about metal and mechanics alone. It is about what it symbolises: resilience in adversity, dignity in simplicity, and strength without arrogance. It is a reminder that the best companions in life are those who do not abandon you when the road disappears.

Some cars impress the eye, some flatter the ego,
But a rare few steady the heart.
They teach us to move forward—slowly, firmly,
When paths are broken and maps fall apart.

The Defender does not promise ease or speed,
It promises to stay.
And in a world that often gives up too soon,
That, perhaps, is the greatest luxury of all.

Footprints on My Path: The Lives That Quietly Shaped Me

Footprints on My Path: The Lives That Quietly Shaped Me

When asked about the biggest influences in my life, I realise that influence rarely arrives with a drumroll. It comes softly—through lived examples, quiet discipline, unspoken sacrifice, and enduring values. Like the steady current beneath a river’s surface, these influences have shaped my thinking, my profession, and my philosophy of life without always announcing their presence.
The earliest and most profound influence was my family, especially the values absorbed in childhood. From them I learnt that dignity does not depend on wealth, that education is a form of worship, and that integrity is non-negotiable. Life was not always comfortable, but it was always principled. Those early lessons became the moral compass by which I still navigate turbulent waters. When circumstances were harsh and resources scarce, resilience became a habit rather than a heroic act.
A towering influence on my intellectual and ethical development was my education under the Jesuit Fathers. They did not merely teach subjects; they taught life. Their insistence on discipline, clarity of thought, service before self, and excellence without arrogance left an indelible imprint on me. The Jesuit philosophy of cura personalis—care for the whole person—later guided my own journey as a teacher and Principal. From them I learnt that authority must be humane, leadership must be earned, and knowledge must walk hand in hand with compassion.
My profession in education, spanning nearly four decades, has itself been a powerful influence. Students, colleagues, parents, and countless lived situations became my teachers. Every classroom interaction, every counselling session, every success and failure refined my understanding of human behaviour. Being a Principal taught me that decision-making is rarely black and white, and that empathy is not weakness but wisdom. In shaping others, I found myself constantly being reshaped.
Another enduring influence has been spiritual and philosophical literature—from the Bible to Indian mythology, from the Bhagavad Gita to reflective poetry. These texts offered answers when logic fell silent and comfort when circumstances felt unjust. They taught me acceptance without surrender, faith without blind obedience, and action without attachment to reward. Philosophy helped me ask better questions; spirituality taught me to live with unanswered ones.
Equally significant has been music—my lifelong companion. Whether it is a soulful hymn, a classical raga, a Mukesh melody, or a simple bhajan, music has healed wounds that words could not reach. It has been my refuge in loneliness, my celebration in joy, and my anchor in moments of self-doubt. In many ways, music taught me emotional literacy long before psychology named it.
In recent years, my **family again—my wife, children, and now my grandchildren—**has become a renewed source of influence. They remind me that life moves in seasons, that relevance is not lost with age, and that love evolves but never diminishes. Watching a new generation grow restores faith in continuity and purpose.
Looking back, I see that the biggest influences in my life were not those who told me what to do, but those who showed me how to be. They did not push me forward; they walked ahead, leaving footprints I could trust.
Some lives teach by speaking,
Some by silent grace;
They light our paths, then step aside,
Leaving us stronger in our own pace.
In the end, influence is not about control—it is about inspiration. And I remain deeply grateful to all those, seen and unseen, who shaped the person I continue to become.